The Confidental Case Log of Marmalade Eames
by SuperKateB
Summary: The life and times of Alexandra Eames, as discribed by an outside - if not impartial - observer, FBI Agent Marmalade.


**The Confidential Case Log of Marmalade Eames  
****A Law & Order: Criminal Intent Fanfiction  
****Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler**

**Agent Name:** Marmalade "Marmi" Eames  
**Position:** Feline Bureau of Investigation Special Agent (Level IV)  
**Subject Name:** Alexandra "Alex" Eames  
**Supervising Officer: **Special Agent Rehnquist McCoy (Level XI)

**Year 3, Month 4, Day 21  
****Page 3**

**6:18 p.m.  
**Subject has returned home a half-hour late. Took her long enough, if you ask me. It appears the subject is laden with groceries, as well. Mostly leafy greens and vegetables, from the looks of it. I was rather enjoying her dinners of canned tuna. Mmm. Tuna would hit the spot right now.

She is proceeding to check the messages on that new-fangled answering machine that's attached to the wall phone. Pity, because I can no longer sabotage her messages by "accidentally" stepping on the keys. Her mother called earlier, requesting dinner later this week. Her mother has a dog and reeks of it. She's saving the message, though, which indicates intention to return the call. A shame, really.

Additionally, the subject has received a call from that gangly man from last week who nearly slept in our bed. She deleted the message immediately upon receipt. Good. He was rude and not at all fond of me. I sent the lesser agent next door to climb up on the hood of his Towncar and scratch it. The mission was accomplished well.

**6:40 p.m.  
**Subject has chosen a salad over tuna for dinner. A pity, really. I was enjoying tuna.

Also, she bought me that cheap canned stuff again. It will promptly be snubbed.

**7:02 p.m.  
**It appears that she has rented _The Notebook_ for the evening. From what I have heard from the other special agents - including Killigan "Killer" Logan (Level XIII) and Fluffy Novak (Level II) - it is a ridiculously sappy movie. Charming. I was hoping we would watch the made-for-TV-movie about the talking cat who solves crimes and –

Hmm. It seems the subject is pouring herself a vodka on the rocks instead of the usual Merlot. Come to think of it, she has been quiet, and not chattering at me, indicating an unusually rough day at work. I will compensate for this malcontent by allowing her a full forty-five minutes of lap-cuddles. This decision has nothing to do with my own interest in cuddles.

**7:35 p.m.  
**If I were you, I too would want a second drink. This movie is truly awful.

**9:23 p.m.  
**The subject sniffled at the end of the movie. I, having nearly lost my will to live, sharpened my claws on the corner of her bedspread.

Subject is now in the shower, humming to herself, and the phone is ringing incessantly. This would be at least the third call in about ten minutes, and I am very nearly ready to sabotage the nearest phone line. The Caller ID indicates that it is from a New York City based cellular phone, but I am not certain of the number. My numerical recall is not what it used to be. I blame the catnip I allowed myself as a youth.

The subject has turned off the water, now. I shall curl up on her bed and look unassuming.

**9:34 p.m.  
**I realize that the subject is quite fond of the Pointer Sisters, but really. Could she at least put her towel back on before she shimmies around the bedroom like that? Is that so much to ask? Or, if not, perhaps she could close the drapes? I suppose I should say something, but –

Hmm. A knock at the door. Why, that frightened her into finding clothing. I shall investigate.

**9:36 p.m.  
**Subject does not appreciate my mewing at the door as she scrambles to get her clothes back together, but too bad. The visitor smells wonderful. Actually, he smells like…

My favorite!

**9:41 p.m.  
**No, I will not stop rubbing up against his ankles, thank you very much! I'll have you know that Special Agent Socrates Goren (Level V) and I are close friends, and I happen to be quite fond of the big guy! He is the only person you associate yourself with who does not call me by that foolish diminutive of "Marmi." What kind of name is Marmi for a self-respecting ginger cat, anyway?

It appears the big guy has come over to discuss some sort of work-related incident. He and the subject are settling themselves onto the couch, and I have been invited to join on his lap. His hands are very large, but he is very gentle. I appreciate that. Not like those other men you bring home, who all stink of dog or rat or chinchilla and usually shoo me away. Not at all. He invites me to stay.

I like him. Subject must reevaluate her taste in men and perhaps bring this one home more often. And perhaps Socrates could come along.

**10:47 p.m.  
**Ah. So that's what has had the subject so worked up. The case she and the big guy have been working was apparently about a small child being brutally abused and murdered for sport. I can understand why that would bother her. She now sits at the kitchen table and stares at her glass of vodka (the third for the night, but she has not yet finished it). The big guy left about ten minutes ago. I mewed after him, for show and for attention. Subject ignored me.

The subject seems more sensitive than I first allowed her credit for. Since being assigned to this case from the master agency (housed out of the New York City Pound) three years ago, I have spent my time pegging her as a rather sarcastic, cynical, slightly moody young woman with a charming smile and a quick wit. But this case seems to have riled her more than I could even imagine. The big guy's emotions are obvious – worn on the end of his fur, as reported by Socrates at our last all-agency meeting – but my subject is not nearly as phased by the day-to-day grisliness of her human job. At least, not outwardly.

Three years on this case, and this is the first time I have ever seen her shed a tear. They're rolling down her face now, as she tips her glass and watches the liquid sway from side to side, dampening her cheeks. But the rest of her body barely moves as she cries. Remarkable. I wonder how long she spent today, holding this in. It seems unlike her, and yet, so like her.

She's standing now, dragging the sleeve of her flannel pajama top across her face. She leaves the glass and pads, barefooted, into the bedroom. I follow, watching as she tumbles through the motions – resetting her alarm, turning out the lights, checking to make sure the windows are locked – and climbs into bed.

I'm sure she's still crying. I think I will join her, and allow her the small comfort of my presence for the night. She will undoubtedly ask me tomorrow what has "gotten in to me"; as she points out to the big guy every time he comes over, I am not "a cuddly cat."

Mmm. She's petting me and nuzzling her face into me and muttering hazy things I do not completely understand. My work here, it seems, is done.

Until tomorrow, this is Special Agent Marmalade Eames, signing off.

**Fin.**

Disclaimer: Law & Order: CI and all related characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf. Marmi, however, is mine.

Author's Notes: I realize that Eames has a dog in canon, but I couldn't stop myself from writing this. I just thought it was a hilarious vision, her having a secret agent cat.

The agent levels are based off the ages of the various cats. And don't worry - you will see Marmi again. Perhaps even soon. evil laugh

April 1, 2005  
5:15 p.m.


End file.
